Petals
by Seeress
Summary: [Allen’s POV, slight AU] Everyone’s got a side of their past that they don’t share… and everybody’s got a story that could break your heart. [DISCONTINUED]
1. Prologue

Petals

_Standard disclaimers apply._

_Author's Notes:_ This story will be focused around Allen and his family. It's a bit AU, written in Allen's point of view. I was inspired to write this after reading a new book that I just bought—"Hunger" by Lan Samantha Chang. I enjoyed it supremely, and then I sort of thought of the song "Petals" by Mariah Carey and it all sort of fit together for me. This is an experiment, but I do hope you enjoy. And one other thing: I've only seen the butchered version of Escaflowne, therefore some things may not coincide and some names may be altered (i.e. Vargas – Balgus). If that offends you in any way, don't read the story. It's as simple as that. I'd be more than happy to receive constructive criticism, but flames are for children. If you enjoy the story, please review.

Special thanks to my dear friend, Sgt. Psycho, for beta-reading and always being there.

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Prologue

My father was a curious man, with a love of discovery flowing through his veins. It was what I remembered most about him, his curiosity. He was fascinated by the most minute of things, and it was as if nothing mattered to him but his breakthroughs. He would study stars at night, trying to map them. He would work for hours on end, studying specimens of beetles or trying to decrypt ancient hieroglyphs inscribed in slabs of stone. He believed there was a world outside of the one we knew, a world far beyond human reach. His greatest fascination, however, lay in the legend of Atlantis. 

When he was younger, my father had discovered an old leather-bound book on a shelf in the cellar of his grandfather's house. It described the Atlanteans in detail: their wishes, their goals, and their desires. It was said that the power of Atlantis is the power of wishes, the power of fate, and my father dreamed of seeing that power more than anything else. The myth told of the Mystic Valley, the power spot for the power of Atlantis on our world of Gaea. My father bought all the books he could find, studied for many years, and I had thought that he was satisfied. But he hungered for this power, needed to taste it, to feel it, before he could feel complete.

"Leon, please!" My mother's desperate voice drifted to my ears. It was still very early in the morning, and the sky loomed dark outside the large glass windows where small raindrops pitter-pattered onto the ground below. I had awakened earlier, and I was unable to put myself back to sleep, so I had planned to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. But, passing my parents' bedroom, I found the door ajar and I heard my mother's soft voice, thin and pleading.

"What do you think you'll find?"

"Encia, you don't understand. It—it's… complicated. I can't explain it. They're calling me; I can feel it. I have to go."

I knew it was wrong to listen in, but I couldn't help myself. I was transfixed by what they were saying, and I edged closer to the small opening in the door to hear better.

"Where is it you plan to go? And what is it that I'm supposed to tell the children? You don't even know how long you'll be gone." 

My mother's voice was rising now, a tone of steely anger implanting itself in her normally soothing voice. Through the crack, I could see my mother's face, her eyes sad and filled with unshed tears. My father had sighed, and walked up to embrace her in a reassuring hug. She didn't let her tears fall; she merely kept them in and embraced him back. I think she knew in her heart that it would be the last time she would see him, and I admire now how she had not cried.

I hadn't quite understood what they were talking about. Where was father going? It hadn't made sense to me, until I saw father pick up the old leather volume and put it in his knapsack. He had showed me its crusty yellow pages, tried to instil in me the love of adventure and curiosity that he possessed. He had tried to teach me about Atlantis, tell me about its wonders and mysteries. I hadn't paid much heed, for I was uninterested in such things. But as I had numbly walked back to my room, I couldn't help wondering if his leaving had anything to do with my ignorance. Would he have stayed if I had paid more attention?

As I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head with these thoughts, I remembered hearing the sound of thunder. I remembered thinking how foolishly curious my father was, so caught up in his own world of discoveries that he would abandon his family to seek his own selfish ambitions. But then, he had always been a curious man, a man curious about the world. 

And so, it had not been a surprise that he had packed his bag and left the following morning. And as the seasons passed, it had not been a surprise to mother or I that he did not return.

End Prologue 


	2. Wilted Flowers

Petals

_Disclaimer:_This is a non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The original characters of Escaflowne belong to their respective owners.

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Petals

Chapter 1

Life went on for Mother, Celena, and I. Mother smiled seldom those days, and Celena didn't comprehend what was going on. Mother never spoke of it, and I didn't bother to enlighten my little sister. I was still too bitter at Father, and I didn't want to rend her of her innocence.

But the one thing that never changed was Mother's love for flowers. It seemed that Celena took after Mother, for the two of them could sit all day in that unusual field of daisies and dandelions under the large, shady tree and be content weaving bracelets, necklaces, rings, or head ornaments. I would become their supplier, gathering huge piles of flowers for them while they went about their weaving.

"Be careful not to crush them," Celena would say to me as I went to gather more flowers. "They're not pretty if they're bruised." And she would have on her angry and pleading face at the same time, and all I could do was laugh at her. Some of the best memories I have took place in that field, and also some of the saddest as well.

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I remember the day Celena disappeared as clear as a bell. 

Our plan that day had been to gather as big a bouquet of flowers as we could for Mother to put in her new vase, but since we had been in the field so often, any flowers near our tree were rare, so we had to stray further out than we usually did. Celena was having fun picking the white and yellow blossoms and depositing them in my arms, which were quickly overflowing. I told her that we should turn back and give the flowers to Mother, but she was having too much fun to listen. Not wanting to ruin her joy and hoping to lure her into coming back with me, I told her I was going to return and present Mother with the flowers. She didn't take the bait, however, and I watched as she ran happily over the knolls, chasing the butterflies and running with the wind. I called after her not to wander off, and then I returned alone and delighted Mother with the largest bouquet she'd ever received. She headed home with them, saying that they needed to be in water so that they didn't wilt. I walked back to get Celena so that we could go home together, with no worries on my mind and the grass green and soft beneath my feet.

She was nowhere in sight.

At first I thought it was another one of her games, since she took great pleasure in outdoing me at something. I had spent a good amount of time saying that she'd won, and that she should come out so that we could go home since it was getting late.

No answer.

I started to grow a little worried, but it never occurred to me that she might have been kidnapped. It was a small town that I lived in, and where everyone knew everyone else's middle name, abduction wasn't even part of the vocabulary. I thought simply that she'd gotten lost, and it would've been the most reasonable explanation. The ground was a bit hilly, but it stretched out as far as the eye could see and looked exactly the same. Getting lost wouldn't have been hard, except that we'd grown up in that field, and Celena knew better than to go wandering off on her own, even though she was only five. I called her name over and over for an indefinite amount of time, with the sky darkening over my head, threatening to bring on a storm. Nightfall was also beginning to creep in, and I knew Mother must've been terribly worried. I was worried, too; where was my little sister?

I gave in when I couldn't battle the storm any longer. It started to pour not long after the blackish-purple rain clouds had gathered, and the rain came down in sheets so thickly that I could barely see 3 feet in front of me. Shielding my head with my hands, I ran back home as quickly as I could, my hair and clothes dripping wet and my lips blue from the cold. Mother was standing in the doorway when I got there, the lines in her face worried and questioning. The unasked question hung in the air, but I saw the same look in her eyes that same night when Father had hugged her goodbye.

She knew.

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The assortment of daisies and dandelions were on the table that night when we ate dinner, and they looked stunningly bright and cheery against the painted clay of the vase. It had taken all the effort I could muster to get Mother to stay inside while the storm raged, but in the end she finally conceded. I knew that her efforts were half-hearted, since she already knew deep down that Celena was gone. She knew that she would never see her daughter again, and for a long time I thought I'd lost my sister forever as well.

Perhaps it was this knowledge that hurt her the most; the painful truth in her heart that told her she'd never get either of them back. I remember a day not long after Celena's disappearance, when I was helping Mother with the household chores. I felt rather than saw a flash of brilliant white light, and I turned around to see Mother with tears in her eyes, her hand resting on a thin, leather-bound book. She whispered Father's name once, put her hand over her heart, and went back to cleaning. My hands stopped their task of tidying. I stood where I was, completely baffled by what I thought I saw. Wasn't that Father's journal that Mother had in her hand? But didn't he take it with him when he left? I could've sworn I saw him put it in his bag that morning…

At the time, I didn't understand that that was the moment my father had died. I couldn't comprehend how Father's journal had gotten back, couldn't comprehend why Mother should cry over a man who had abandoned her. I couldn't grasp that, although he had left her to seek his dream, Father had loved Mother until the very end, and she had done the same.

In his dying moments, he had willed back his journal with the strength of his love.

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My mother had died on that self-same day as my father. I guess the grief of losing both a husband and a daughter finally got to her. Perhaps, somewhere in her heart, she was hoping he would return, even though she knew otherwise. The pillar of light that brought back Father's journal dashed away that hope like the sun chases away the night. After that, I suppose she lost her will to live.

Although she was alive physically, she started to wither away, hardly eating or drinking, and sitting all day staring at her flowers. I tried my best to persuade her to eat, sew, move, anything. The flowers in the vase had started to wither also; the daisies were starting to lose their petals and the dandelions shrivelled and turned an ugly, decaying brown, the stems turning the same colour and drooping when they couldn't support the weight of the bloom. I think it gave her a sense of reassurance to stare at the dying blossoms; it broke my heart to see such a strong woman reduced to being no more than a mannequin, showing no emotion or life. The flowers lasted for an unusually long time, but for me it wasn't long enough. Mother died on the day that the last petal fell from its stem.

People were kind to me, and the women of the village who were Mother's friends saw to it that she got a proper burial. I was grateful to them, because I was too numb to think about much. At the ceremony, I stood dully in the rain, not listening to anything anyone was saying. People came up to me to express sympathy, but they meant nothing. The knowledge that I was fully alone in the world caught me like a fist in the gut. It wasn't fair; I was only eleven. How was I supposed to survive?

I stood at her grave long after everyone had returned home. During the funeral, I had placed a small bunch of newly picked daisies at her tombstone. It seemed as though the dandelions were now out of season, because I didn't see a single yellow bloom anywhere. I stood with my black cloak around my shoulders and my hood over my head, staring at her name engraved on the stone. Encia Schezar. My mother. The daisies once again seemed unnaturally bright in contrast, and I watched as the raindrops rolled gently over the white petals. It occurred to me then that, whenever a tragedy struck me, it would always be raining. It was as if the Heavens took away all I had, and then mourned for what they had done.

How ironic.

Some of the same women who had arranged Mother's funeral offered to raise me until I could get a job on my own. I politely declined, but it made them even more concerned.

"What will you do?" they asked me. "Where will you go?"

I didn't respond, for in truth I didn't know. Where **would** I go? What could I possibly do? How would I survive? I decided that I would think about those things later. I went home, gathered some things of mine, and started my journey. But as I was exiting through the door for the last time, I glanced back at the table where the flower stems were brown and dry, drooping over the cracked vase with its peeling coat of paint. I thought that it seemed appropriate somehow, and then I turned my back on the only home I'd ever known to search for a new home and a new life, where perhaps I would finally find happiness.

To be continued… 

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_Author's Notes:_ Well, this is my own version of Allen's life. Some of it may not be accurate, but I tried to stick to the plot of his past as much as possible. Thanks to Sadie Joyce - Myst Lady and feier for giving me comments on the prologue. Special thanks to Feier for being a true friend and always giving great advice. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

~Seeress


	3. Balgus

Petals

_Disclaimer:_This is a non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The original characters of Escaflowne belong to their respective owners.

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Petals

Chapter 2

I can't recall those troubled times very well. Truthfully, I barely remember at all. It seems as if all the memories and images swirled and mixed together, so that at one time I'd be remembering a warm bed of grass as my habitat, and the next I'd recall stealing my supper from an unsuspecting vendor. What I do remember is that I blamed my father; blamed him for breaking up our family; blamed him for Celena's disappearance and Mother's death. If only he hadn't left… if only he'd let those stupid myths lie! There was nothing for him in Atlantis; it was all an illusion, while we, his family… we were real. And yet, he had chosen Atlantis over his own family. I went to sleep every night with this burning hatred in my heart. I'd decided long ago that I never had a father. I didn't have love for a man that would abandon his own family.

I don't know how long I travelled exactly, but I know that I only ever slept in the same place once. I'd lost the meaning in my life, and I grew bored of living. I didn't care about my appearance; I never cut my hair, letting it grow as long as it wanted. I think that was what reminded me of the years: my hair, which by now was almost reaching my knees. But even though I no longer cared, there was a part of me that refused to live the way I did, a part that just couldn't steal any longer. I had taken my sword with me when I had left home, and I wanted to teach myself how to fight. So, deciding to settle down in a forest not too far from a fair-sized town, I began my training.

I was practicing late one night when I felt a pair of eyes watching me. It was a not vehement stare or even a threatening one, but I got the distinct impression that someone was watching. Trying to appear is if I'd not noticed, I did a few techniques that required me to turn many different ways so that I could survey the scene around me, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The trees were silent; the wind was gentle; and the only other living thing I saw was a small white owl, staring right at me with its large, golden eyes. I locked gazes with that owl for an instant, and then went back to my training. But I found that I couldn't concentrate, because I constantly felt the piercing stare of that accursed owl. Finally, sighing with frustration, I turned to face the owl, one hand on my hip and the other rested on my sword, the point of which was lent into the ground.

"Do you mind?" I said in exasperation, throwing up my hands when all I got was an indifferent hoot. "You know, some of us are trying to work so that they'll have something to eat. Shouldn't you be out hunting or something?" I knew it must've looked incredibly funny, a longhaired orphaned boy talking to a small, golden-eyed little owl. The owl just hooted again, and I decided to ignore it by turning back to my training. In time, we grew to be friends, that owl and I. It would watch me as I trained at night, usually eating whatever it'd caught earlier on. I survived on what I could, living in the forest, and to be honest I probably would've never grown hungry if I'd lived there forever. But in time, I grew to miss civilization, to miss being in large cities with their merchants and vendors. That owl grew to helping me; sometimes picking fruit for me, going with me wherever I went, and pretty soon he answered to my call. When I thought I'd trained enough and was ready to fight for my food, that owl would scout for me and report back if there were any people in the area.

I started out small at first, challenging people that I knew I could handle. I'd study how they fought, and I revised my own fighting technique in turn. After a while, I found that I had a gift for swordsmanship, that I could analyze fighting techniques and conjure up winning strategies. I could look at someone and notice their weaknesses without even trying. Soon, that was how I got by: challenging passers-by in exchange for food or water. I grew increasingly better, and I also admit increasingly confident. Too confident, in fact, that I didn't recognize my defeat as soon as I saw him.

Balgus.

I surveyed his greying brown hair and moustache, the cut on his right cheek that ran from under his eye, and the cut on the left side of his face that ran from the top of his forehead, through his eye, and down past his chin. Logic told me that he didn't get those in a bar fight somewhere. My instincts knew, I think, that this man would be my downfall. But I ignored them, using the cocky confidence I'd gained to justify the motive I had for issuing a challenge. I reasoned with myself that an old man like him couldn't do much to me, although deep down the truth lay over my heart.

I tried to strike him out of the anger I kept inside, as I always did. Anger gave me strength, and I used it every time there was a battle. So confident was I in my abilities that it came as a surprise to me that he sidestepped my attack and had drawn his own sword. I struck again, angrier than I was before. I didn't know then that he was one of the three Master Swordsmen in all of Gaea. 

And how he made me wish that I did.

The fight was over before it had even begun. Within a matter of moments and a few strokes of his sword, what I had deemed an 'old man' had defeated me with the effortless grace of a true master. I was awed by him, but also hurt; not physically, of course, but sometimes wounded pride takes longer to heal than a wounded arm.

"What is your name, young lad?" he asked me as I sat there on the ground, gaping at him in wonder. "And what are you doing out here all alone?"

"My name is Allen Schezar," I said with no little amount of pride as I got up. "This is my home."

The man looked as if about to say something, but instead ended up sheathing his sword.

"And who are you?" I asked rudely, the heat of the moment giving me courage and my temper flaring up again temporarily.

"You fight with your anger," he said instead, not answering my question. "It makes you rash." Then he gave a long, suffering sigh. "Well, if you're going to play with that sword, I might as well teach you how to use it properly." And he bent down and picked up my sword, handing it to me. He drew his sword and held it in front of him, but when I didn't move, he merely gave me a stern look. 

"Do you want to learn or not?" he asked grimly.

I felt embarrassed that he had to talk to me as if I were such a child, so I reverted back to my rude tactic.

"You haven't answered my question," I countered. 

He simply held his sword firmly and replied, "I am known as Balgus."

To be continued… 

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_Author's Notes:_ Yes, I know it isn't exactly like Allen's flashback in the series. I decided to change it a bit, and the story's AU anyways, so don't get mad at me. I think Balgus's reaction to Allen is justified, seeing how he's already trained Folken and maybe Van a little bit, and they're probably really stubborn and prone to take chances. Thanks to Sadie Joyce - Myst Lady, Ron and his Sakura, feier, and Sgt. Psycho for reviewing. To Sgt. Psycho, I know you don't like Allen, and you think his father's a jerk, but it's possible to still love someone even though you leave them. We'll argue it over lunch sometime. Lol.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this. If you have time, try reading 'The Way Things Were.'

~Seeress


	4. Point of No Return

Petals

_Disclaimer:_This is a non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The original characters of Escaflowne belong to their respective owners.

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Petals

Chapter 3

I tried for a very long time to understand my Sword Master. He was a simple and honest man, that I could see right away, but there was also something else about him that left me wondering. He never spoke much of himself, but he educated me in far more than simply swordsmanship. He taught me of strategy, of course, of tactics and how best to act in difficult situations. He also taught me of life, and during the time he was my teacher, I felt some of my resentment and bitterness dissipate, because they somehow seemed so silly in comparison to his stark, solid logic. He taught me of honour and chivalry, manners of the 'high society,' of vengeance and pain. In time, I learned not to calculate my Master, and I left his hidden past be. He'd taught me that it did not matter what kind of past people had or what family they came from, just as long as they have purity of heart and love of the art. He became almost a surrogate father to me, and I respected him far more.

"You're trying to do too much all at once," he had instructed me one time. "Do not try to run when you can't walk." And he had promptly knocked my sword out of my hands with one swift gesture while I was in the middle of trying a technique. "Learn the basics properly, and the rest will come much easier."

I heeded his advice, and I practiced hard. Pretty soon, we had gone far past the basics and into more complicated tuition. I was an apt student and a fast learner, and not too long after I was able to hold my own against Balgus, if only for a short while. 

Years passed without our knowing. One day, while we were in the middle of our training, Balgus suddenly stopped and gazed up at the clear blue sky. I found it to be more than odd, and had to use all my strength to pull back an attack that I had already launched. Balgus never lost concentration during a match and he most certainly didn't lower his guard. I followed his gaze into the heavens, but I saw nothing there except lazy clouds moving slowly across the cerulean expanse and a slender white feather fluttering towards the ground. It quivered briefly in the wind, dancing with its breeze of a lover, before falling steadily to land on his sword sheath, over the engraved maroon and gold crest that I didn't recognize. A small breeze passed by, kicking up some dried, fallen leaves, and blowing the white feather from the ground into a frenzy of steps of an intricate dance, and finally into the outstretched palm of my Sword Master. I didn't understand, but I got the feeling that I would never see him again. This would be our final goodbye.

Balgus held the feather softly in a grip I didn't think he was capable of, and re-sheathed his sword. "That'll have to be all for today," he said to me, turning to leave me in that small clearing by myself. "Have your things ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning. I'm taking you to someone who can look after you."

There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but I knew that he wouldn't answer. His statement also wasn't a request; it was a command.

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Glancing over periodically at the silent man walking beside me, I saw that something significant had happened to make him upset. I had a feeling that the feather conveyed a silent message, a secret code, but what it was I could only guess. With my head feeling light and the small owl I had affectionately named Natal dozing peacefully on my shoulder, I simply let Balgus lead me where I was supposed to go. I had cut my hair the previous night, so that it now hung just above my shoulders. I had called Natal to me close to dawn, and I was afraid that he would already be sleeping and not answer my call. Relieved was I to see the familiar flutter of white wings after my third try.

The trees were less dense now, and the canopy was no longer fully shielding the forest floor so that erratic patterns of light shone through the leaves overhead. It all looked so green and peacefully still, and had I the choice, I would've stopped by the little creek that ran by the large willow trees and on down the gentle slope. But Balgus didn't even seem to look at the scenery; his eyes flickered over everything as if he saw through it, and we pressed grimly onwards. Finally, when we had reached the edge of the forest, we came out in a grass-covered clearing and the sun glared so blindingly bright that all I saw were little black dots and I was forced to shield my eyes. 

Squinting until my pupils had adjusted themselves, I found that we were standing on a small hill overlooking a fairly large town. In actuality, it was more a city than a town, but I'd not been in a place with many people for so long that it was all too much for my mind to take in at once. The houses looked to be of a light orange colour, with crooked roofs and winding streets creating alleyways to divide them apart. The city was shaped almost like a drawn heart, and even from a distance the voices of many chattering people emanated and reached our ears. I looked up at Balgus to see his reaction, but there was only blank neutrality written on his face. Not for the first time in the years that I'd known him, I wished I could've read my Master's thoughts, to know what he was thinking and feeling. I didn't have long to ponder, however, because after a quick sweep with his eyes over the landscape, Balgus proceeded down the hill, and I had to run to catch up with him.

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We entered the city through the main gates, unnoticed and unheeded by most of the various people crowding the wide street. Some vendors tried to call us to buy their products, but Balgus's now icy exterior kept most of them away. Natal was hooting angrily on my shoulder, not liking the glare of the sunlight or the commotion that made so much noise. With my feet kicking up dust from the clay-coloured ground as we went along, I let my eyes roam over the brightly coloured booths that stood in the street, selling everything from jewellery to fresh fish. Children ran away from their mothers, who were buying groceries for supper. A mule kicked its owner in the stomach, sending him crashing into a booth and making the vendor furious. A tall, bulky man was carrying a long wooden pole slung over his shoulder, and he created a wide path through the crowd. Every time someone shouted at him and he turned to talk, people would have to duck to avoid being hit. There was a piper playing to captivate the attention of a small group of watchers, who were peering eagerly at a woven basket in front of the piper, where the scaly head of a snake was beginning to appear. 

Growing up in a small town, I was unaccustomed to seeing so many people and things in the same place all at once. I gaped when I first saw a beast man walk by, but luckily I caught myself and he didn't seem to notice. I wanted to browse around, to talk and meet people, since everyone seemed so friendly and it had been a long time since I'd spoken to anyone my own age. But Balgus would not stop; once again, we trod on.

After a few twists and turns through several small alleys, we emerged in a quieter part of town with sparser, larger houses. The street was narrower and flatter here, but the dust still blew into my face if I didn't lift my feet. To me, the houses all looked the same, with identical architectural designs and constructed with the same orange-coloured clay bricks that the builder of the city appeared to be fond of. My feet were getting tired, and we had not stopped to rest all day. Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I finally asked one of the numerous questions I'd been dying to ask since that feather had fallen out of the sky.

"Balgus," I began hesitantly. "Where are we?"

He looked at me as if truly seeing me for the first time that day, and the steel glint in his eyes softened a bit.

"My mind has been preoccupied. I haven't told you much, have I, Allen? We are in Daedelus. I am taking you to an old friend of mine."

He stopped there, and I thought that he still hadn't told me much, but at least I knew where we were. Unable to hold them in any longer, I asked him more questions, even though it was very rude.

"But what about you? What did that feather in the sky mean?"

He halted in his long stride and turned around to face me, coming back to kneel so that he was at my eye level.

"I've been summoned home," he said, and I could tell from his voice that he wanted to resolve this now. "I can't take you with me, but I'm taking you to someone who will look after you and continue your education. I want you to train just as hard, and don't be stubborn." Balgus was getting up as he clapped a large, calloused hand on my shoulder, almost walking away again, but my next sentence, sounding dead even to my own ears, stopped him in mid stride.

"I'll never see you again, will I? You're not coming back."

To be continued… 

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_Author's Notes:_ Thanks to the people kind enough to leave reviews for chapter three.


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